deepundergroundpoetry.com
barefoot at the brink of solace
she was hardly a girl you’d pick out in a crowd
of designer intellects. her hair was too wild on
some days, & too plaintively romantic on others.
if her serendipity was anything at all,
it was a still life of bruised peaches;
it was a blackberry rain.
she would not take the long way around,
nor cross a bridge that was meant for burning.
she wouldn’t give the time if she had it.
her gift was the back of her knees where it should
be kissed, the cupping of her hand in her partner’s
hand if she danced a goodnight waltz. it was the
liquid curve of her spine as it regulated the tides of
her womanhood.
her lover was away on a long voyage charting undiscovered
oceans, so she kept time with a liquidations recorder in the
old Romanian quarter, whose own lady was utterly devoted
to her forums & blogs. she & her convenient paramour were
blissfully elated in their sexual endeavors. still, she felt there
was something very wrong in her liaison.
there were rumors that she kept cigar shaped gelatinous
objects which she placed in various entrances on her body,
but these were entirely unfounded.
she made a library of antique postcards depicting carnage &
desolation, including terrible ordeals in a Turkish harem, &
created an anthology of pornographic poetry composed by
wayward convent girls. she averred that she would sleep with
every prostitute in De Wallen till the devil forgot her name.
she regarded the scars on her back & legs as the remnants of
half-love carved by men who departed with the censuring wind,
& she diarized those remnants. a missionary of carnal healing
she was, for each dolorous drifter who took a morsel of her heart;
but she did not kiss them.
her eyes spoke, & it was all that was necessary of speaking.
she was valorous & barefoot at the brink of solace…
(Art: Benjamin Wu)
Published 20th Jun 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 19
reading list entries 3
comments 18
reads 1420
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
20th Jun 2015 6:59pm
John, your detailing is near perfection as always. I'd love this one even in cowboy boots.
Anonymous
20th Jun 2015 7:09pm
heh i'd love it in ratty converse sneakers lol
"she regarded the scars on her back &
legs as the remnants of
half-love carved by men who departed with the censuring wind"
you are a wonder mister
"she regarded the scars on her back &
legs as the remnants of
half-love carved by men who departed with the censuring wind"
you are a wonder mister
20th Jun 2015 7:58pm
20th Jun 2015 8:56pm
Anonymous
- Edited 25th Sep 2020 3:45am
20th Jun 2015 11:02pm
<< post removed >>
20th Jun 2015 11:29pm
her gift was the back of her knees where it should
be kissed, the cupping of her hand in her partner’s
hand if she danced a goodnight waltz. it was the
liquid curve of her spine as it regulated the tides of
her womanhood.
I love this stanza ... Just marvelous
be kissed, the cupping of her hand in her partner’s
hand if she danced a goodnight waltz. it was the
liquid curve of her spine as it regulated the tides of
her womanhood.
I love this stanza ... Just marvelous
21st Jun 2015 3:12am
she was, for each dolorous drifter who took a morsel of her heart;
but she did not kiss them.
She does not give up herself when she opens her legs, she gives up herself when she opens her mind and emotions and allows him to plug into her soul. This is why she, and most prostitutes do not kiss.
but she did not kiss them.
She does not give up herself when she opens her legs, she gives up herself when she opens her mind and emotions and allows him to plug into her soul. This is why she, and most prostitutes do not kiss.
21st Jun 2015 3:22am
"it was a still life of bruised peaches;
it was a blackberry rain"
~Aaa-stounding as-ever SirJ!
"nor cross a bridge that was meant for burning"
~ smart observation & stellar advice!
"till the devil forgot her name"
~ always throw profound tibits like *this in,
nice thot tho huh? ;)
enjoyed the build on character & "brink of solace?" great end to ponder!
~d
it was a blackberry rain"
~Aaa-stounding as-ever SirJ!
"nor cross a bridge that was meant for burning"
~ smart observation & stellar advice!
"till the devil forgot her name"
~ always throw profound tibits like *this in,
nice thot tho huh? ;)
enjoyed the build on character & "brink of solace?" great end to ponder!
~d
21st Jun 2015 5:04am
Just beautiful ...Especially this part
her gift was the back of her knees where it should
be kissed, the cupping of her hand in her partner’s
hand if she danced a goodnight waltz. it was the
liquid curve of her spine as it regulated the tides of her womanhood.
Jeezez Johnny u always deliver with such passion..
loves you
zazzles xoxoxox
her gift was the back of her knees where it should
be kissed, the cupping of her hand in her partner’s
hand if she danced a goodnight waltz. it was the
liquid curve of her spine as it regulated the tides of her womanhood.
Jeezez Johnny u always deliver with such passion..
loves you
zazzles xoxoxox
21st Jun 2015 6:09am
JohnFeddeler, luv ~ :-*
a missionary of carnal healing
she was, for each dolorous drifter who took a morsel of her heart;
Mayhap, she doesn't kiss to keep some of her heart...
her eyes spoke, & it was all that was necessary of speaking.
she was valorous & barefoot at the brink of solace…
Tis enough methinks, betimes...
a missionary of carnal healing
she was, for each dolorous drifter who took a morsel of her heart;
Mayhap, she doesn't kiss to keep some of her heart...
her eyes spoke, & it was all that was necessary of speaking.
she was valorous & barefoot at the brink of solace…
Tis enough methinks, betimes...
21st Jun 2015 12:39pm
22nd Jun 2015 1:32pm
22nd Jun 2015 1:32pm
24th Jun 2015 4:18pm
"her eyes spoke, & it was all that was necessary of speaking.
she was valorous & barefoot at the brink of solace"' love that line, Absolutely Beautiful Ink Sir
she was valorous & barefoot at the brink of solace"' love that line, Absolutely Beautiful Ink Sir
24th Jun 2015 4:30pm
26th Jun 2015 4:06pm
Most intriguing, yet you seem to know these secret thoughts lying within her ironclad temple. - blue angel
7th Jul 2015 1:15am
Neat intricate and intelligent details to the story and your usual beautiful adjectives, good work!
23rd Jul 2016 9:41am
